


Prelude

by astraielle, ghoulaesthetics (astraielle)



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Prompt Fill, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23107384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astraielle/pseuds/astraielle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/astraielle/pseuds/ghoulaesthetics
Summary: Basorexia -- an overwhelming desire to kiss.Jake Sisko, Kira Nerys, and Julian Bashir each reflect on the sensation.
Relationships: Jadzia Dax/Kira Nerys, Jake Sisko/Tora Ziyal, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 6
Kudos: 45





	1. I.

Jake wants her, and he probably shouldn’t. He can’t help it, though—Ziyal is all sharp wit and soft glances, attracting attention just by virtue of living on Deep Space 9, and inadvertently charms those curious enough to engage her in conversation.

He’s spoken to her, but just barely. Jake’s always considered himself decent with women. Perhaps not smooth, exactly, but comfortable enough to try his hand at creating a connection. She’s different, somehow. Not because she’s related to Dukat. That thought’s barely crossed his mind, truthfully—she couldn’t be more different than her father, and beyond the scales, he’s hard-pressed to spot a family resemblance. Ziyal simply throws him off-balance in a way he’s never encountered before. She tilts her head to show interest in something he’s said, and he stutters. She turns her eyes towards his, he forgets his words. He manages to say something to make her laugh, and he feels like the air’s been knocked out of his lungs. He’s sort of amazed that he even managed to form enough of a coherent sentence to ask her to dinner with him.

He turns the conversation over to her and asks her about her latest illustrations and paintings. She’s an artist like him, using pencils and brushes instead of words, and they speak a common dialect through their respective works. He feels as though her work can hit depths that he only catches glimpses of in his on occasion, and he could listen to her go on about the process it took her to get there indefinitely. Her voice carries a pleasant, low hum, and he’s lost in the deliberate way she forms her words.

She rests a hand on the table, the other being used to balance her chin. Her nails are painted a delicate blush pink. It’s chipped in some places, no doubt thanks to the sculptural work she’s been trying lately. The colour brings out the rose tones normally muted under the grey microscales on her hands. Her lips quirk, eyes crinkling at the corners as she laughs at her own joke, and Jake follows with an answering grin. This is the third time they’ve spent an extended amount of time together, and it’s going painfully well for him, he thinks. He indulges his fantasies, for a moment, and pictures what it might be like to reach across the table, to feel the cool comfort of her skin, and lean in to capture the turn of her smile in a kiss.

Perhaps one day. For now, this will have to be enough.


	2. II.

adzia Dax is the sort of stunning that you’ll probably only ever encounter once in every lifetime, Kira thinks as she eyes her profile. Jadzia—statuesque, beautiful, wise, playful, eyes bright and voice filled with warmth—how many people could the universe possibly make like her? Kira thinks that the number has to be low. It would be too overwhelming otherwise.

It’s her turn to sleep now, and Kira’s to pilot the runabout. That's fine. A six-hour trip wasn’t normally that long, but they were both tired from the away mission. In an emergency, it’s expected that the one who was already awake for grab the other out of their nap. It’s been quiet since they left, though, and Kira is left alone with her thoughts. She studies Dax’s profile. The turn of an ear, the slope of her nose, the curve of her jaw, the way the spots accentuate it all. Her lashes fan out over her cheek, lips parted slightly as her chest rises and falls with every breath. She’s reclined as best as she can be with legs like that, arms crossed lightly over her ribcage in a loose hug. She looks like _warmth_ , if that was something you could see with your eyes.

It’s almost not fair. Dax needs her sleep, and all Kira can think of his how badly she wants to reach out and _touch_. Her hair clip had gotten loose at some point during the trip, front pieces falling out and skimming across the skin of her face. If things were different—if they were awake, if Kira was more like Dax, if she could just say what she means in any context outside of giving orders with this woman—Kira might reach over and tuck it back in place. If she were more like Dax, she might do that, and then run her hand down, resting on her shoulder, teasing contact, getting so much up in her space that Jadzia would have had no choice but to detect her perfume. Perfume that Jadzia had actually suggested she wear, and then later gifted her with a bottle when the suggestion slipped Kira’s mind. It was nearly empty now. She’s worn it almost every day since.

If she were more like Dax, Kira would have already kissed her before getting trapped in a runabout with her after a four day away mission. But she’s not like Dax, she’s Kira Nerys, and she gets weak whenever Dax calls her by her first name. She’s certainly not going to act on the burning need she has to kiss her anytime soon.


	3. III.

There’s a four-hour lecture at Starfleet Medical regarding the ethics of pursuing relationships with your patients. It’s supposed to be frowned upon, and on paper, it is at least, but really, when you serve about a ship (or a station, in this case) for years at a time with the same people—well, it’s almost standard for every doctor to have a mistake or two under their belt by the time they move on to the next post.

Julian desperately wants that mistake to be Garak.

Well, no, he doesn’t want him to be a mistake—he wants so much more from the simple tailor. But if that’s as far as Garak will let it go, then that’s what he’ll take.

His fingers twitch as he sits across Garak at lunch. The man is infuriating, tearing into Voltaire with his usual sadistic delight. Julian could not be more transfixed. Oh, he’ll rise to the bait that Garak lays out for him at every turn, but that’s part of the game. He loves an intellectual debate in its own right, but the real treat is watching the way Garak’s eyes light up and dance whenever Julian says something that he knows Garak will vehemently disagree with. He’s hooked on those expressions, the fact that he can bring even the smallest amount of delight to his friend.

Friend—well, he is, isn’t he? Except, friends usually didn’t want to kiss their friends so badly it made their whole body sing with electricity whenever their bodies brushed against each other in a crowded hallway. Garak is tearing into his literary analysis, almost sadistically giddy with the fire of a good argument feeling his words, and Julian wants nothing more than to cut off the sound of his voice—grab his face, pull him in, press his mouth against his like a man starved.

Garak infuriates him. He’s stubborn, evasive, oftentimes flippant. And he finds that he simply cannot get enough. Lunch and conversation only sate so much of the hunger he’s feeling. Julian thinks himself greedy; they see each other nearly every day, Garak’s attention only on him and him alone, and still Julian wants more, more, more. He covets it when Garak lays a cool, calloused hand on his shoulder, returns the gesture with a gentle, warm hand on Garak’s forearm.

He wants to know how the rest of him would feel, pressed up against Julian’s body. He wants to imagine that they would slot together perfectly, just as perfectly as they were able to perform the deliberate dance of conversation and debate they did each time they sat down to lunch.


End file.
